Hastings was the one to step forward, light eyes unnervingly glued to Carl's face. The friar had stared down a vampiress – this man didn't scare him. Much. There was something in Hastings' knowing gaze the made him feel as if the man was peering into his very soul, and measuring what he saw. It made his skin crawl.
"Carl," he began, turning his head amiably about as if he were searching for something. Someone. "Would Kevin Pardoe happen to be nearby?"
It was not what he was expecting. "No," Carl stuttered the word, standing between the circular warding cells confining his two friends; one of which was unconscious, and the other nearly so.
Hastings took a step forward. "I don't suppose he -" Carl stumbled back. "No, I suppose not," the Mayor finished wryly. He continued to advance carefully toward the friar, who matched him, retreating step for step. Carl didn't realize Hastings was banking on this until he was grasped from behind by strong arms. A squeak, and a short struggle, proved to the friar that he was well and truly caught. Ancell secured his arms with little difficulty.
Schoen was giving him an appraising stare as he spoke for the first time. "Did they teach you no hand-to-hand at the Vatican, boy?" His eyes then traveled to the hunter, whose breathing was still dangerously faint. "I expected more."
Carl felt heat blossom on his face. Gabriel had worked with him, teaching him self-defense techniques as they whiled away their time on the ship to America. "It didn't stick," was what he defiantly threw back at the training master.
Schoen then did something strange; he laughed, and clapped Ancell on the shoulder. The big blacksmith was restraining the friar – heavy hands on his shoulders was enough. "He has spirit," he smiled. "There's hope for you yet," he told Carl. The friar rather wished there wasn't.
"That being the case," Hastings smoothly entered the conversation, "I'd like to know just where Pardoe is. Carl?" His voice was light, almost pleasant, but for the razor edged steel gliding through each word. Something told Carl that this tone boded ill for the Senior Projects Manager.
"I'm here," answered a cold voice before Carl could speak. The friar's heart skipped a beat at the tone, and then sank as the speaker irritably batted branches out of the way, entering the clearing. He had one hand firmly on Ben's shoulder, the other dragging Ned alongside by the collar. "And I found a few travelers on the path."
Hastings frowned mightily. Ben, however, had frightened, horrified eyes fixed on the fire and the shapes burning within it. The mayor moved to the boy, and Carl's heart jumped into his throat. A strangled "No!" burst from his throat. "Get away from him!" the friar snarled fiercely. The boy should not be here, seeing this. It was wrong. And Hastings' proximity to the youth had Carl straining against Ancell's restraints, fearful for his young friend.
Hastings glowered at the friar. "I'm not going to hurt him. What do you take me for?"
Carl glared at the man, and deliberately looked to the fire's ghastly fuel, before turning accusing eyes on the mayor.
"He won't hurt the lad," Ancell rumbled from behind him.
"I have the words of a murderer and a coward," Carl spat sarcastically, yanking and tugging as Ancell's restraining hands. "Forgive me if I don't put much stock in your honor." The fingers digging into his arms tightened with bruising force. "Ah!" he gasped.
Schoen glanced over, eyes hard. "Ancell," he warned softly.
The grip loosened, but Carl's attention was locked on Hastings, bent over and speaking gently to Ben. "Ben? Ben lad, look at me. Take your eyes from the fire, Ben. That's a boy, good. There's nothing to fear, Ben -" he reached out a hand to smooth back the hair from Ben's eyes, but the youth flinched away. Ned growled threateningly. Hastings' hand stopped, and a sad expression seemed to cross his face before it was overtaken by impartial neutrality. "Pardoe," he ordered, stretching upright. "I want you to take Ben and Ned back to the Austin home. They'll be safe there. Make sure Mathilde and Tanya are there as well." Eyes conveyed a message that Carl saw, but couldn't decipher. "We need to have an – adult conversation." Hastings glanced at Ben, choosing his words carefully. "I'll deal with you later." A world of anger in that sentence, boiled down to a few menacing words. "Jason, if you would be so good?"
Pardoe nodded, his face now ashen, and within moments had guided an unresisting boy and an increasingly resistant Labrador out of the clearing, heading back to the Widow's. Schoen escorted him, dogging his every step as they were swallowed up by the trees.
"Now," Hastings' words redirected Carl's attention to the mayor, who was swiftly approaching. "I'd like to speak with you, Mr. Weldon, about a matter of some importance. I'd like to make you an offer, to join our little group."
"Are you mad?" The disbelieving question bounced off the unflappable man before him with almost no reaction.
"I see I'm going to have to explain myself a bit more clearly," Hastings smiled genially.
Carl's jaw was working in shock.
"Robert, if you would be so kind?" Hastings drew a silver flask from inside his large, furred greatcoat, leading the way to the opposite side of the hunter from Lamar, and stopping about four feet away from the warding line. Schoen followed, a lanky, ghostlike presence. "That will do nicely."
Ancell stopped where directed, his hands still firmly preventing the friar from getting loose. "What are you doing?" Carl demanded, craning his neck around to try to see what Hastings was up to.
The mayor unstopped the flask, which smoked hotly in the cold. Schoen stepped back, far out of the way. Hastings began behind them, moving surely backwards as a steady stream of liquid spilled from the flask. It was viscous and black, and Carl realized as the Mayor circled into his view that he was creating another warding line. The circle was half-done when surprising pain flared across Carl's fingers. He couldn't stifle a noise of shock.
Ancell had produced a knife, and dragged the edge across the tips of Carl's fingers with the ease of long practice. He effortlessly manhandled the friar to the edge of the circle, holding his hand over the dark line and squeezing mercilessly. A few drops of blood spilled, hissing into steam as they hit the dark substance and were absorbed. Staring in shock, it took Carl several seconds to realize he had been released; he turned in time to see Hastings, who had never stopped drawing the circle, enclose the two ends and complete the ward.
The friar rushed forward furiously, and Hastings spoke a foreign word that sizzled in the air. Carl hit an invisible wall, and was thrown to the ground. Ancell and Schoen were flanking the mayor, watching him with respectively amused and neutral expressions.
"This warding line has been keyed to you with your blood," Hastings told him conversationally. "You won't be harmed, but you cannot escape. While you are within the ward, no living thing can enter to harm you, but likewise you cannot leave. Your friends are in similar situations." Despite himself, Carl glanced worriedly to his right. Lamar was staring at them with silent hatred, and Gabriel –
"Ah! I see someone is awake at last!" Hastings cried jovially.
The hunter was stirring slightly, and after a moment hazel eyes blinked open. His face was still alarmingly pallid – he had not regained any color with consciousness. After a moment, he managed to push himself into a sitting position, one hand firmly braced on the ground, but he gazed around himself as if unsure of what he was seeing. Carl's heart twisted at the barely-visible confusion in the hazel depths, before lids slipped closed. For a moment he thought the hunter might pass out, but when his eyes reopened, the confusion had been replaced with steely intelligence. Once again, Gabriel took in his surroundings, this time registering what was around him. His eyes paused briefly on Carl and Lamar, before focusing on the threat.
Hastings stopped in front of the hunter's cell, and Gabriel shoved himself to his feet, refusing to meet this man on anything but equal ground. "I'm truly sorry for what I had to do when you came calling," the Mayor apologized earnestly. "I slipped Louisa Pardoe's home blend into your drink, simply to be able to manage you more easily. You had rather a worse reaction than what I had expected." Critical eyes appraised the white face and cold sweat shining on Gabriel's brow. "Some sort of allergy, perhaps? But I think it's quite clear that we needn't get you anywhere near large amounts of St. John's Wort in the future."
"What do you want?" Gabriel cut him off harshly. His eyes flicked to Ancell, standing silently in the background, before returning to the Mayor.
"Well, that's why we're all here, isn't it?" Hastings was remarkably – unaccountably – cheerful. "Now, I know these aren't the most ideal circumstances," he began, with a tragically mournful look as he indicated their respective warding lines. "But I have a proposition to make to you all, as it were." The calm control had now overridden the camaraderie, and Hastings' voice turned thoughtful.
"I know that by now, you have discovered some of what is occurring in Boxborough." A tiny smile curved his lips. "I give you credit – you are much more insightful and determined than Warren Gray ever was. But more on that later," he said dismissively, pocketing the flask he had been holding and folding his hands in front of him. Hastings took two steps back, so that they were all in his sight, arrayed helplessly before him. Carl was not thrilled by the sensation; judging by the look on his face, Gabriel was similarly displeased.
"Now, I would like to make clear to you exactly what we have been doing, in the hopes that you will be able to cast off your prior assumptions, the prior beliefs which have been so wrongly fed to you by the Vatican, and join our noble cause." The incredible speaking ability Carl had noted before was coming into play once more; Hastings' voice thrilled to hear, fluid and charismatic. Carl was listening, almost despite himself, and he could tell Lamar was as well.
"For some time now," Hastings continued, "the leaders of this town have been aware of a growing threat. The evil which the rest of mankind has no idea even exists -" his words were an exact mirror of Jinette's, Gabriel noted, but the tone was spiked with hatred in a way that Jinette's resolved acceptance could never have matched. "- It is growing," Hastings continued. Gabriel was barely listening. "And we prepare to meet it." Those words, however, caught his attention.
Hastings' eyes glittered, lingering on Gabriel as if he knew he had engaged the hunter in the one-way conversation. "For some time, we have been preparing to protect ourselves, our town and lands and the people who – even within our number – remain unaware of what is truly going on. The fire you see behind me – the noble sacrifices that the flames consume were our strongest protection against the evil." Gabriel blinked in confusion. "We constructed a pentacle, beginning in October," Hastings continued blithely. "It was a pentacle of protection, a device used by ancient magicians to protect themselves from evil, from the force of the powers they were calling upon. We have long since believed that this pentacle is the basis for a similar protection which overlays the Vatican herself.
"This protection is necessary," Hastings changed subject abruptly. "While we leave, to hunt down and destroy the evil which plagues the lands, sometimes we must travel far across the country, west, south and north. Our home, our sanctuary, is unprotected in these times, and we have already suffered losses." He gave a heavy sigh at this. "You are aware of Anthony Austin's death. He was allowed to construct a protective pentacle around his home itself after an attack there by a witch. He was overzealous in his protection, though that can be easily forgiven. In that house and the lands bounded by the pentacle, there can be no violence. The air itself is easier to breathe, and there is a peace there that many wish to partake of. His foresight was remarkable – he was killed not long after, on a hunting expedition to destroy a coven of witches north of here. His body was given to our cause." Hastings swept a hand back to indicate the fire in an expansive gesture.
"This," the mayor continued grimly, "is simply an example of the evil we confront daily. Our cause is just, and yet the Vatican does not see the danger we face. We were forced to cut the cable lines a year ago – the orders we were receiving would have left us defenseless, vulnerable to even the weakest attack! We needed to strike out on our own, much as our ancestors struck out from British suppression!" Hasting's face was intent now, words coming fast and enthralling the listeners. "I ask you now," he breathed deeply. "Join us! We have need of your talent and knowledge – with your help, we could scour the evil from this country, make a land free of menace and devilish, nightmarish creatures. Join us!"
Carl was admittedly swayed by the impassioned plea. The people here did have a mission, and he had seen clearly their ability, dedication and imagination. But the fire burned merrily in the background, and the stench of burning meat was strong in his nostrils. To cast off the Vatican? Declare himself a rogue – deny their teachings? He glanced at the others. Gabriel's face was set and expressionless, giving no clue to his emotions. Lamar, however, looked to be seriously considering the offer.
Hastings himself was standing back, judging each one of them with a knowing smile. It was that which unnerved Carl the most – this man barely knew them, yet seemed to be predicting their reactions with uncanny accuracy.
"Of course you need time to think of this," he allowed them generously. "And to discuss amongst yourselves, of course. I will bring someone here that I think you should meet – someone who may be able to convince you, if I have not already done so." The certainty in that voice raised all of Carl's suspicions, banishing the comfortable glow of glory and freedom which Hastings' words had set to dancing in his head. He tore his eyes from the mayor, who had in his usual style commanded all their attention to the point of forgetfulness of their surroundings. "Please, think on our noble mission. Nothing would please me more than for you to take up our mantle, join our cause."
With a formal little bow, Hastings disappeared into the undergrowth, closely followed by Ancell. The sounds of their passage died slowly away, leaving the three men in silence for a moment.
The moment was broken as Gabriel wavered slightly on his feet, before allowing his knees to collapse under him, gently toppling him to the ground. Carl's concern, lost in the haze of thought and confusion roused by Hastings' speech and the forthcoming revelations, returned in full force. "That doesn't bode well," he observed with a pale imitation of his usual good humor.
"I'll be fine."
"They drugged you," Carl retorted more sharply than he had intended.
"St. John's Wort," Gabriel confirmed wearily. "I've come across it before – but not so recently that I recognized the signs. Damn."
"They've been drugging you since you started staying at the Pardoes'," Carl revealed what he had overheard just hours ago. "In all your food and drink. They began giving you more when they couldn't discern any effects. It's been in your body for days, now."
A light seemed to brighten the hunter's face – and he nodded in thoughtful understanding. "Yes – that would explain -" but then he shook his head, and refused to say more on the subject.
"What do you make of this offer?" Lamar asked suddenly, changing the subject awkwardly.
Though it had not been long, the time since Hastings had disappeared had been more than enough for Carl to put some very important clues together. Hastings wanted them on his side – all the evidence pointed to such. But instead of asking them outright, he had imprisoned them all and drugged Gabriel as well. Ancell stoutly supported Hastings, and appeared to do nothing without his consent; yet the blacksmith had started a fight with Lamar, and endangered him by pushing the Jerusalemite into the millpond. Lamar's current illness, and the fact that he was being further endangered by being confined outside in the cold without being properly dressed, only heightened Carl's dislike and suspicion. The people under Hastings' order accomplished their goals through trickery and stealth, and while that in and of itself was not precisely dishonorable, they had lied to members of the Order, people who could be expected to understand. There was no need for such deceit. While Anthony Austin's death might be easily explainable, that of Warren Gray – whom even Hastings held in contempt – was not. Nor was the fact that they were delving into dark magicks so easily dismissed. This led the friar to a single conclusion.
"He's possessed," Carl said flatly.
Gabriel rolled his eyes. "He's not possessed, Carl."
"How can you be sure?" Lamar demanded, a frantic light in his eyes.
"I'm sure."
There was a short pause, interrupted by a snort of disbelief. "I still say he's possessed."
"Carl!" But a reluctant laugh broke away from the hunter's control, a soft and tired sound but heartening nonetheless.
The weak noise trickled away into a silence more comfortable for its existence. "Neither of you is seriously considering it, then?"
"And you are?" Carl looked incredulously past Gabriel to Lamar. "Look at the bodies burning in that fire, and tell me that Hastings has given us the full truth."
"The pentacle -"
"Does not require the giving of a life to be drawn and sustained," Gabriel interrupted wearily. "I have seen the magicians of Persia at work. Only when they called upon the forces of evil was a blood sacrifice required. Even then, one was considered sufficient."
"They fight fire with fire!" Lamar protested feebly.
Gabriel drew himself up, sitting taller as he turned to the Jerusalemite huddled on the ground in the cold. "Give me no platitudes," he commanded coldly. "This is not the same as some tired banality. No one can hope to control evil this potent without being consumed by it. These people may think that they are using the weapons of the enemy against their foe, when in truth they are the ones being used." Lamar flinched over the hunter's evident disappointment. Gabriel's outburst, however, seemed to drain the strength from him. He recalled Jinette's earlier words now, from almost another time. Lamar was knowledgeable and skilled in so many different areas because the man was searching for something. An internal struggle distracted him from dedicating himself to any one area.
Gabriel sighed quietly, seeing into the other's mind. "You may have lost your faith in Allah, Lamar," he said quietly. "But Allah has not lost faith in you. The path that Hastings opens to you – it would murder your soul."
The Jerusalemite went pale at Gabriel's words, something tight and desperate burning in his eyes. Carl was quiet.
"How do you know this?" Lamar barely breathed, staring in wondrous awe, and a little fear, at the hunter.
"Look around you," Gabriel gestured gently. "Remember what has been done in this town – the murder of innocents, a gathering force of evil that threatens to swallow us whole. Can there be anything good in this?"
Though Gabriel had evaded the question, the answer turned Lamar from his fear. Carl could see understanding dawning in Lamar's eyes, as he drew himself away from the allure of Hastings' offer, hearing the mayor's words for the first time in a new light. As he gazed around the clearing, Lamar's eyes grew sad, and Carl rejoiced inwardly when the sorrow was replaced with resolve. He had hovered over an edge, deceptively deep, yet pulled himself back from the abyss. "I -"
Gabriel cut Lamar off suddenly, the words ripped from his throat. "Something is coming!"
United in their concern, Lamar and Carl glanced at each other before turning their worried gazes to Gabriel. He was whiter than ever, more pallid than the churned-up snow around them, his breathing fast and shallow. The sounds of several people walking through the woods came to them, from the direction Hastings and Ancell had disappeared in. Gabriel gave a soft, pained moan.
"Van Helsing?"
"Gabriel? What is it?" Carl hissed. The hunter didn't answer, and had started to shake imperceptibly.
The two redirected their attention to the far side of the clearing, at which point Ancell barged through the last scrub separating clearing from forest. Behind him came Schoen's lanky form, followed by two men. Hastings came forward, and behind him was another man with graying hair. His eyes, too, were a piercing green. If one looked carefully, there was a bit of a resemblance between Hastings and the older man. Not in features so much as the line of the nose, the set of the jaw, and the sly expression of catlike satisfaction.
"Brothers from Rome," Derek Hastings began formally. "I would like to introduce to you our ranking magician, the head of our new Order, and my father. Joseph Hastings."
(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(-(
I arrived back home today, and as promised, here is the next chapter! To all those cussing me out for the cliffhanger(s), I refuse to apologize; I've remembered how much I like them! I do not, however, want to lose any readers to death by frustration, so I'll do my best to have the next update within the week!